


The Witch-King and His Husband

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Fairy Tale Elements, Fashion & Couture, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Nonbinary Gender, Oral Sex, Politics, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jotunheim triumphed over Asgard, it was agreed that Asgard's golden son would wed the first witch born into the royal family of Jotunheim in well over ten thousand years. </p><p>In which Thor grows up on Jotunheim, largely alone, waiting for Loki to grow old enough to rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Witch-King and His Husband

**nulla.**

There is a story children tell  
Of a Witch-King and his husband,  
A story forged in war and blood,  
Of worlds of ice and gold.

The tale is one that time forgot,  
Made of love and hate in equal parts.

A thousand years to grow and change,  
A thousand more to stay the same.

 

 **i.** the spider spun

The day he was married, he wore his entire dowry. Servants spun golden chains with tear-drop pendants set with heavy gems into his hair, set his brow with a circlet made of gold and thousands of tiny diamonds. His wrists were heavy with hundreds of delicate bracelets of gold and silver, fingers littered with rings set with a rainbow of precious stones and gems, nails studded with more diamonds. There were eighteen layers to his wedding robes, spun silver and gold and platinum, and he could not move without assistance. 

His prevailing memory of the day was that he was unbearably hot, but he could not be seen to sweat. The seiðr his mother cast on him to disguise that discomfort was difficult for him to control as young and frightened as he had been. He remembers his father touching the palm of his right hand, the only exposed part of his body without adornments before he let him go, gave him away, stepping back into the crowd, the conquered Asgardian people.

There is still a pang of shame for Thor to know that Loki's first impression him were the tears that Thor shed constantly through their wedding day.

 

 **ii.** a tighter web

There was a certain measure of mercy that Thor was married to Loki and not, say, to Helblindi or Býleistr, who were both much older and much more Jotun. Loki was at least similar in age, and, due to his innate inclination to seiðr, even similar in height. Thor does not know if Odin argued for it, or if Laufey thought it appropriate; likely, it was something of both.

In the first few centuries of their marriage, Thor spent very little time with Loki. At first, as Thor mourned the loss of Asgard and his friends, this had not mattered. He would have likely resented Loki, if they had been forced to spend more than the occasional meal together. For the first hundred years of their marriage, as Thor came into manhood, he had been kept mostly sequestered with tutors, a handful of servants, and the once a year visitor from Asgard to keep him company. Thor remembers the remainder of his childhood as bleak and cold and crushingly lonely. So, it became that the few hours a week that he got to spend with his husband were the best he had to look forward to. 

It is not that Loki was ever kind, but at least he was never dull. He was brilliant by nature and a gifted conversationalist, even when they were both prior to adolescence, and he was quick to bring a laugh from Thor. Thor didn't laugh much any more; he knew as soon as he saw his mother's tears and the graveness in his father's face that those light-hearted days of playing swords and snakes with his old friends on Asgard were over. At least in the scant few hours he had with Loki, he had never been drawn to the grimness that hovered over his life, and, perhaps, that is all that Loki wanted out of Thor then. After all, Loki's own life had been grim enough in those early days.

Loki had been the first witch born into the royal family of Jotunheim in well over ten thousand years, during which seiðr inclination aside from the innate connection of Jotun to ice had increasingly waned among the Jotun in general. To say that Thor had been married to the lowest member of the Jotunheim royal family would be nothing more than a lie; Thor had understood that even early in their marriage. But that gift had bought Loki a life of ridiculously high expectations from Laufey and deep resentment from his brothers. After all, sure, Thor was the get of a conquered people, but he was no thrall; he was royal in his own right with the physique and warrior prowess to prove it. That Laufey had not yet sought a marriage for either Helblindi or Býleistr did not go unnoticed. After all, the Jotun were nothing if not observant, and Loki far more so than most.

So, with these details known, Thor trained harder to be as strong and fast as he could be because he knew, one day, there would be a chance to change his fate from what it appeared to have become.

 

 **iii.** out of gossamer threads

It is when Loki turns his first thousand years that the issue of children comes up. Thor has noticed the issue looming since he first began to view his husband as handsome, but it is not something that is his place to bring up. Thor suspects that Loki may have considered the issue from the very beginning of their marriage but let their ages justify ignoring it.

"I do not wish to have a child," Thor tells Loki over their now nearly daily dinners after the fifth time he hears mutterings in the palace corridors.

"Laufey will likely move us to share quarters before the autumn harvest," Loki shares, and Thor admires the fall of his recently unbraided hair. "A child will be expected within a decade."

Thor grimaces; it is as he thought. "Do you wish a child?"

Loki's eyes are carved rubies, sharp enough to cut. "We are not an affectionate couple," Loki says, no blame nor regret in his voice. "I have never known you like that."

Thor swallows a mouthful of mead. It is no secret to anyone that they have never dallied with each other or in others. It is one of the few things that Thor honestly controls in his life, and he suspects that Loki feels much the same. That his husband gives voice to these words: Loki is allowing Thor a way out, and it gives Thor a sense of boldness.

"I have been taught how to be tumbled," he says, deliberately low and watching closely for any reaction. 

He is pleased to see the way that Loki's eyes flicker, the hard edges dulling and now reflecting better the world around him. Loki picks up a slice of apple between his thumb and forefinger but does not bring him to his lips, waiting.

"It was part of my tutelage once I came of age," Thor says, keeping the same tone and letting himself smile. "If you remember, there was a tutor I had, the one from Vanir -"

"Ah," Loki says, and he smiles, too. "Yes, the woman. I suspected."

Thor licks his lips, half for nervousness and half because he wishes to see if his husband reacts. "She taught me much in the short time she was here. It was so short a time, though, as she found me a natural talent."

This draws a laugh from his husband, one of Loki's real ones that were once common but have become increasingly rare. Thor grins back, terribly glad to see something honest out of him for once; even with Thor, Loki is a closed book. Thor doesn't remember if Loki was that way when they were first wed, too deep in his own grief and struggling to adjust to Jotunheim. By the time they began to create a repertoire, Laufey sometimes would recall a mischievous, too brilliant child, but the positivity of that memory is only a show of how he favours Loki over his brothers; it cannot be trusted.

"That is pleasing to know," Loki murmurs, and his tone is almost lazy but his eyes focused. 

Thor knows that he cannot truly trust his husband any more than his lord father, but it is still such a thrill to have so much of Loki's attention upon Thor and Thor alone. Once, Thor took attention for granted, eager to hurry onto the next childish game. Now, Loki is perhaps the only person in his life that may see him for what he really is: a conquered prince, yes, but still a prince.

And, because Thor wishes it, he murmurs, "I aim to please."

 

 **iv.** which glittered in the noonday sun

Thor had thought, foolishly, when once the Vanir woman left that there was nothing more to learn. After all, she had told him and prepared him for pain as well as pleasure, for how best to hide disgust and how to be as cruel or sweet as possible. He had thought he knew what to expect.

But Loki is a brilliant, shining star in the muted darkness, and there is no way to predict how he will burn.

"You will tumble me," his husband tells Thor the first night that they are in their new rooms, Loki's hands working through the meticulous ties of his long witch's robes.

Thor gapes briefly, much like a fish, before he snaps his mouth shut, reeling and unbearably aroused. He is already naked, and Loki's eyes are hungry, dark things as he studies the evidence of what his words have wrought from Thor.

There must be an ulterior motive. "Why?" 

Loki's lips quirk, and he finally slips himself of the heavy outer-robe and begins to undo the intricate network of sashes that make up his undergarments; Thor recognizes the braided emerald waist cord that he gifted his husband for his last name-day. "I have ways of preventing the conception of a child with seiðr," he explains, tone neutral but voice low. "Besides, you are the one who has training in this."

And thus it goes, Thor tumbling his husband most evenings, revelling in being able to touch again after so long limited to the increasingly rare and always formal interactions with foreign tutors, designated sparring partners, and the once a year Asgardian visitor. Loki's seiðr allows for the touch and so much more, and Thor finds that Loki is quick to loose his carefully crafted control under Thor's ministrations, colour climbing high in his cheeks and silver tongue uttering a litany of pleasure and Thor's name.

"Accursed -" Loki hisses when Thor pulls out, and Thor just grins at the open frustration on his husband's face. "Finish -"

"I want to try something," Thor says, and he sound impish even to his own ears.

Exasperation, curiosity, and excitement flash across his husband's face, and Thor revels in the open display of emotions. "Your ideas in this have been good so far," Loki admits, and Thor nearly preens.

He leans low over his husband, licking briefly at Loki's shaft and balls, before he moves lower to the wet folds he'd been embedded in before. Loki makes a half-broken, half-elated noise as Thor mouths his clit and then a heady moan when Thor sucks. But when Thor adds his fore and middle fingers, slipping them inside and stroking, Loki actually gasps, and Thor can hear his husband's hands scrabbling for purchase on the bedding. Thor hums his amusement against him, knowing full well that it'll make Loki -

"Thor -!"

Thor keeps stroking and sucking as Loki rides out his orgasm, his husband's seiðr washing over him like a warm, welcoming blanket. When Loki calms, Thor pulls away slowly, just enough to look up at his husband, at the half-lidded calm pleasure still written in his face as he looks back at Thor. He looks almost peaceful, and Thor wonders if Loki even knows what it is to be at peace. At least Thor knew that, back when he had experienced childhood.

"Such a thoughtful look," Loki murmurs, and Thor can't help but pride himself in the slight slur to his husband's words.

It is a bit bold, but Thor shifts to curl over Loki and press their lips together. Loki breathes out what might be a sigh or a laugh, but he kisses back, slow and unhurried. Thor is hard and wanting, but he can wait long enough for Loki to be fully interested again; it never takes very long.

 

 **v.** the spider sat

It comes as a shock to everyone, including Thor, when Laufey simply gives Loki the throne.

"Will you not do battle with me?" Loki asks, and, for once, Thor thinks the devastation on his face is not simply an act for the court. "Will you not acknowledge my challenge?"

"I acknowledge your challenge, Loki of my blood," Laufey answers, and he smiles the disconcerting sharp-toothed grin that Thor used to have nightmares of in his early days in Jotunheim. "There is no need for battle. I accept my inevitable defeat."

Loki licks his lips, a motion that Thor has grown familiar with but he does not understand its place here, and suddenly he smiles, charming and bright and warm. The sight sends a chill down Thor's spine.

"Your defeat was inevitable," Loki acquiesces, sweet and almost loving. "Come, father of my flesh. Let me have your head."

As per tradition, Laufey's blood is not washed from the throne. Loki sits in the blood of his father for the rest of the day and into the evening, conducting court with Thor seated in the long-empty smaller throne to his right. Thor tries not to think about the sight of his husband slicing his own father's head from his neck with the same knife that Thor has sparred against, tries not to think of the triumph that radiated so forcefully from Loki as he lofted the head up high for all the see. It was perfect, everything formal and traditional as could be, and because of that, Thor knows all of his husband's expressions were fake.

When they finally retire for the evening, Thor reaches out but Loki shudders, the illusion of control cracking even as he moves towards the bath. Thor has never seen Loki struggle with the hundreds of ties and sashes that make up his witch's robes, but Loki's hands have begun to shake and he cannot grip the tiny knot well enough to untie them. He's covered in his father's blood.

"Let me," Thor says, soft and gentle, like his husband is a horse nearly spooked.

"Just get them off me," Loki says, and his voice is calm and commanding even though his eyes are blown in barely controlled panic.

Thor tears the robes off and most of the layers of sashes, keeping only the ones he knows cannot be easily replaced. Loki trembles but does not waver as he climbs into the bath, and Thor strips as well to climb in after him. He reaches out and begins undoing the complicated braids of his husband's hair, one of the most noticeable differences seiðr has given his husband besides an almost Asgardian figure. Loki lets him, which tells Thor just how upset his husband is right now.

"If we battled, I would not have had to take his head," Loki says, and it's too obvious a statement for the silver tongue.

"Shush," Thor admonishes, and for once Loki listens.

Loki goes away into himself that night, sitting before the fire and watching the wall behind the flames. It isn't the first time that Thor has seen his husband do this. There have been some moments where Loki seems to fold up everything that he is and retreat into his own mind. It usually happens after a particularly brutal war council or near to Helblindi's or Býleistr name-days, both of whom had challenged Laufey for the throne and died for their attempt. Thor does not miss them and neither does Loki, but they were his brothers and Loki is strangely warm at times for a Jotun.

"Loki," Thor whispers, careful of all the broken edges he can see, "come to bed."

It is only on these nights that their bed is cold.

 

 **vi.** the web spun tight

It is in the tenth year of Loki's reign that Thor returns to Asgard.

Thor had not asked for it, but he had known that it was something Loki had been considering for a long while, perhaps within three years of his reign. Of all the realms beneath Jotunheim's control, Asgard is the wealthiest and the most contentious. Laufey never visited since the conquest, but Loki is a different ruler, and Thor is, despite nearly eight centuries away, still Asgardian. Thor suspects that Loki intends to utilize this aspect, but Thor knows that Loki does desire to keep Thor as a husband. That, if nothing else, is what Thor has gained from their shared bed.

"Here now," Loki murmurs as he carves seiðr into the golden metal of Thor's new vambraces the night before he leaves, "you wear my favour."

It is, of course, also a constant reminder that Thor is Jotunheim's property, but Thor does not feel that sting, has not felt it for a good long while. He is excited and more than a little apprehensive of how he will be received back on Asgard. Some of the yearly visits from the many different Asgard ambassadors have given Thor a very clear sense that Asgard views him as just another reminder of their shame and defeat. He has to trust that Loki will not send him simply to be humiliated.

"Thor," his mother breathes when Thor materializes on the Bifröst, and Thor feels all of himself threaten to buckle at how old she has become. "My son -"

She hugs him hard enough to crush a lesser man, and Thor can't help the wretched noise that escapes his throat as he clutches her back. They stand like that for a long time, burying noises of grieved gladness in each other, but eventually his mother draws back enough that Thor looks up to see -

"Father," Thor murmurs, and he knows not what to do.

Odin has aged far more than Frigga, his broad form lined and hair entirely white. Thor swallows and bows, much as he once did when his father honoured him in front of Asgard's courts over besting Fandral in archery. He wonders if his father sees Jotunheim in him, or if the presence of his husband's seiðr upon him fills his father with disgust. Thor knows many of the ambassadors in recent years have viewed him that way, and he does not know how to tell them any more than his own father that he does not mind Loki's claim. In truth, Thor desires it.

"Stand," Odin says, and Thor does; he knows how to react to a command. "My son."

Tears prick at Thor's eyes and then fall when Odin opens his arms. For all the age his father shows, his hold is strong and sure, and Thor weeps openly for it. Hundreds of years past in which this was something he only dared to dream about on the darkest of nights, and now it has come to pass. To be held once more in the arms of his parents: it is all Thor has ever wanted.

And yet, even as his mother joins them, warm and golden and true, he finds that there is more to want, the memory of Loki's voice by his ear in bed:

"You were born to be king, too."

 

**vii.** trailing, over-light

Asgard has become horrible.

"He makes you wear his mark so boldly," Fandral says in disgust.

Thor does not shift his arms out of the torch light, unusually bright to his Jotunheim-trained eyes. "My husband does not make me do anything," he explains for what feels like the umpteenth time. "These were a gift."

"You choose to wear that witch's mark?" Volstagg asks, incredulous and slightly damning.

Thor does not like how his husband's title is used here, as if being a witch is somehow a shameful, dirty thing. Do they forget that his mother, their _Queen_ , is a witch? And that they call his husband's favour a mark, like some sort of horse brand: it is obscene.

"Yes," he says, and he knows that he sounds testy; unlike his husband, Thor has never been good at or truly needed to hide all of his emotions. "He is my husband."

"You can't like him," Sif says, and Thor keeps meaning to ask how her hair became black, but there hasn't yet been a lull in this irritating barrage of questions and insults. "He slew his own father for the throne."

"As goes Jotun tradition," Thor explains, greatly regretting asking his father to arrange for Thor to see his old friends. "Laufey-king did the same as have generations before."

"Barbaric," Hogun mutters, and the rest agree. 

Thor has to press his hands down hard on his knees to avoid reacting. He wishes for his husband's silver tongue, which could change the course of this interrogation. If his husband was here, then it would be unlikely that Loki would have even allowed the conversation to devolve so far. But Loki is not here, and Thor knows that this trip would have been very different if he was. Asgard would never trust Thor if Loki came with him.

"It is late," Thor announces, standing and smiling broadly with practised leisure, "but I would not be adverse to a spar! It has been too long."

His friends are surprised and look briefly between themselves, sharing an entire conversation with their eyes. Thor keep his broad grin, pretends to have not noticed their apprehension and unflattering disbelief, and waits for them to turn back to him, each with tentative, uncertain smiles on their faces. Inwardly, Thor sighs, but he will take what he can get.

"Come on."

Despite everything, they still follow after him, and it brings back such memories that Thor has to work extremely hard not to let any of the old grief show on his face. They do not comment when Thor has to double back briefly once outside to take the right path to the sparring rings, although he sees Volstagg swallow. In truth, that was a ruse of Thor's, to see how far they think he's grown from Asgard. That only Volstagg feels a bit of surprise or disappoint is more depressing than Thor would like to admit.

Thor picks up a practice hammer from the weaponry, watching out of the side of his eyes as his friends go for the same weapons he remembers them favouring as children. He strides out ahead of them into the dimly lit practice ring, swinging the heavy hammer lazily. It feels good enough, even if it is not the one he has grown used to using, the Asgardian-style hammer that Loki had made for him and imbued with seiðr when Thor came of age.

"Come at me," Thor booms to all four of them, and this time the grin is not fake; he knows himself well in this. "I promise: I shall not be an easy opponent."

 

 **viii.** dew falling slight

The first thing that Thor notices is that his husband's face is more angular when Thor returns to Jotunheim after his month on Asgard. Loki's expression is serious and closed, the unsmiling, inscrutable face he wears as king.

"My husband," Thor kneels, aware of Jotunheim's cold after a few weeks in the sun. "I have returned."

"It pleases to see you wear Jotunheim's favour," Loki intones, and Thor hides his smile by keeping his head bent low. "Rise. Tell of how Asgard goes."

"Asgard shines," Thor says as he get to his feet, hands at his sides. "Shame hangs heavy. There are many whispers. Odin Allfather grows old."

"These are not new things," Loki says, and Thor cannot yet tell what Loki feels.

"There is a new generation of warriors," Thor explains further, "grown up under peace. I sparred with many and found them good opponents. The land is quiet and calm. The people are deeply suspicious of witches."

"Tell of witches," Loki commands, and Thor knows now what his husband was looking for.

Much later, after Loki and the court have dissected what Thor could bring them, they finally retire to their rooms. Loki passes his hand over the fire and Thor grabs him by the shoulders; Loki lets Thor tug him down onto the carpet by the hearth and have his fill of his husband's skin. Thor sucks and nips at Loki's nipples, worrying the one he cannot attend to in his mouth with his hand until Loki begins to warm, respond, the grave mask of king cracking open and exposing Loki himself underneath.

"Thor," Loki whispers, and his eyes are fractured rubies, fever-bright.

"Let me," Thor murmurs, and Loki's eyelids flutter, gaze entranced.

He makes a home inside of his husband for the entire night, loving every inch of his flesh, and Loki let him, the cracks in his eyes sealing, regaining focus as they make a mess of the lush fire rug beneath their bodies. Loki rides him as the night turns over into the dim Jotunheim day, and Thor marvels at the dark flush over his husband's skin, the fall of hair about his shoulders, the open, secret pleasure on his face that no one else has ever known.

"Norns," Loki moans, and Thor wishes that he could read the strange pain written on his husband's face before they spill themselves together, Loki over Thor's belly and Thor deep within.

 _My husband,_ Thor thinks, and there is such a thrill in the thought because this, if nothing else - _Mine._

 

 **ix.** would the spider

His husband, Thor is horrified to find, has fallen into a melancholy.

"I do not want Asgard," Thor protests late one evening, blanketing Loki in their bed.

"You needn't lie," Loki says, and his eyes are shuttered, so very close to those awful moments where he goes completely away. "It is your home."

"You know I do not lie," Thor says, too hard and fast, but at least it makes his husband's eyes flicker briefly, a reaction enough. "I know no one there, nor do they know me."

"You were born to be king," Loki says, and there's such deadness to the statement. "It has always been yours."

"It has not been mine since we married!" Thor cries, and it's so very terrifying that Loki doesn't even twitch. "I came to Jotunheim a child. I grew here. I love here. I am recognized here."

"You never wanted this," Loki starts, but Thor clutches his hand against his side, hard enough that Loki winces.

"This?" Thor asks, more like a whip, soothing his hand against Loki's side, reaching up to curl his other hand in Loki's own. "I want this. I never said I didn't. I didn't ask for it, but it's what I want. What do I have to do to convince you of this?"

"Asgard is yours," Loki says instead of answering, and Thor feels tears of frustration prick at his eyes. "I have worked for that. For you, what you've given, it is more than the marriage contract ever required, and you would rule in the peace we've long desired."

"No," Thor bites out, uncaring of the tears coming fast now, "it is what _you_ desire. You desire peace. I desire you."

Loki is silent, and Thor swipes at his eyes so that he can see his husband's face. The gaze Loki wears is shattered and lonely and a thousand miles away across a field full of broken walls. It is clear now: Loki would give Thor anything and everything, even what Thor had never thought or hoped to ask. But there is a reason that Thor never asked, never hoped, and he realizes that, for all Loki's intelligence and gifts, there was no way for Loki to know.

"I love you," Thor whispers, shouts, strokes and beats into his husband's skin.

For how could Loki begin to guess such a thing? Brothers who were jealous of his gifts and died to challenge the throne. Laufey, lord before father, who gave his head to see the greater power ascend uncontested. A fearful, awed court that bowed and scraped and grasped. And then Thor, a war prize spouse, trained and seemingly crafted to please. Love: it had no place in this story.

The look in his husband's eyes is more open than Thor has ever seen, more real and raw and Thor's heart wants to tear itself from his breast to finally know the one he loves. Instead, he clutches his husband close, their hands twined together, and tries to let him know.

And, miraculously, Loki turns his head and presses his lips against Thor's. Thor thinks he sobs into it, the first kiss his husband has given him, and he lets Loki turn them in bed, lets Loki curl into him, turning them inside out. 

"I love you," Loki breathes into his husband's skin. "I love you, too."

 

 **x.** have only known

And if the story should ring true,  
Twisted as the tale can brew,  
Thoughts and wants and needs and words unsaid,  
At least one aspect should remain:

Once upon a time,  
There was a Witch-King and his husband.


End file.
